95% Of Americans Will Have Accidentally Killed Each Other By 2050 Concludes Survey

Satire from Lord Daniel Soz 7th. Earl of Whitechapel!



Pupils and teachers from Alabama State High School pictured taking an enforced break during a class nature walk yesterday.

A shock investigation by a popular American magazine has revealed that by the year 2050 an incredible 95% of American citizens will have accidentally killed each other by the negligent discharge of firearms.

The in-depth analysis comes just weeks after a young black male was shot dead in the street by cops who mistook his hands up gesture to be a threat to the lives of themselves and fellow officers, and the accidental fatal shooting of a firearms instructor by a 9 year old girl last week.

Fightin’ And A Feudin’ magazine also claim that by the turn of the next century the American armed forces will have entirely wiped themselves out, along with 97% of Nato forces, in friendly fire incidents.

A spokesman for the National Rifle Association Of America…

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Another of me old JC skits from the early days of blogging!




Judea AD28: Nazareth Wanderers have just lost 7-1 at home to arch rivals Jerusalem Stanley in the early kick-off match.  JC has the hump as the result means his beloved team will now not get to face Alexandria Alexandra FC in the Near East Champions League. Having gone to the pub to drown his sorrows he now stumbles home, somewhat the worse for drink, singing his own version of the club song, “I’m forever blowing shekels; pretty shekels on a bloody season ticket…..”  Pissed as a rat he thrusts open the front door only to find Mary sat down in her favourite chair playing with her IPad thing exactly as he left her earlier!

Mary: “So you lost then? You always come home all aggressive when you’ve lost.”

JC: “Certainly bloody did!  7-1 can you believe it.  Bloody referee was a Muslim.  The portents were not looking good…

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Given my post earlier today was all about a female character who took the view all men should suffer a loss of rather important bits of their bodies I thought I’d give this ‘true’ story of my mad wife an outing. First posted this when I started blogging and didn’t know hardly a living soul on WordPress at the time.




Sometimes my wife – Shirley – looks, as that hackneyed old saying goes, ‘Like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.’  That is all well and good yet the thing is she is as unpredictable as she is lovely and often there is neither rhyme nor reason behind the things she does insofar as I can tell.    Sometimes she has the mouth of a navvy, sometimes the eloquence of a bard. 

Unusually in a female she has an almost phobic loathing of shops – all shops be they fashion or food it matters not a jot. Such places bore her and when bored Shirley becomes a dangerous liability!  Once, for example, in the queue at a supermarket check-out, finding the tedium of it all unacceptable she decided that she would treat me as if I were a random ‘weirdo’ of sorts.    There I was innocently stood behind her in said…

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eco warrior

Ever since my childhood I’ve had this overwhelming desire to protect our dying planet. Mother Nature cries out in pain each and every place I look yet does anyone really care? Do they fuck. Except me that is – I know I’m just a weak and feeble woman yet as I see it without the likes of me we are all so very doomed.  It is for that reason that I am an eco-warrior taking the fight to the enemy at each and every opportunity that presents itself. Who are the ‘enemy’ I hear you say?

Well I’ll tell you. If you are reading this it is likely you are a literate member of the human race and it is you lot that are fucking things up. You breed like rabbits which means you and yours demand more and more energy and it is the rape of the very planet we live on to feed your energy demands that is destroying everything. Put simply we have gone beyond the optimum point and there are simply too many of us. So I have come up with a radical plan I intend implement and I don’t care if I break any laws of any land in doing so.

My plan? Like all good plans I’ve kept mine simple. I have concluded that the male testicles that are the culprits – ‘BOLLOCKS OFF FOR MOTHER EARTH’ is my slogan – and that if I can castrate a sufficiency of adult males (obviously not those of my lovely gay friends) I can resolve all of our problems at a stroke……. or should I say a ‘slash’ as I shall undertake the task using the handy pen knife I purchased for a pound in Poundland……only kidding there when I said ‘slash’ it’s just my ‘sharp’ sense of humour coming to the fore again. Oh I can be so girlie at times can’t I!

Anyhow I shall commence my eco-warrior activities this very night. The first set of bollocks to go will be those of Tarquin my boyfriend. He has absolutely no idea he’s about to lose his set as he thinks he’s coming round to my eco-friendly recycled corrugated dwelling place in the woods for a lentil bake followed by a shag for afters – he’s even said he is bringing a bottle of organic and ethically produced pear cider with him as he knows when I get a little bit tiddly I can be rather raunchy on the copulation front…..there’s me giving my little secrets away naughty girl that I am.

Whatever Tarquin will be good practice for a first go at castration for I know for sure he has sired any number of bratlets at the commune where he lives – he even has the bloody nerve to call himself an eco-warrior yet those common weekend hippy tarts he impregnates are spitting out babies as if shelling peas. So basically he deserves it!

Obviously I’ll try not to kill him….I mean I’ll have a red hot poker handy to quarterize the wound and stem the flow of any blood….that should do the trick I think. And once Tarquin is a eunuch (I may keep him tethered as a house keeping sort of slave like Cleopatra would have done as the idea has such a wonderful girl power appeal to it and I don’t think he’ll be wanting to go out much what with him being a pair short of a full house) the world will be my oyster and there won’t be a set of gnadgers on the planet safe from my blade – what fun I shall have! Indeed the only thing I need to consider is whether to lop them off pre or post shag….decisions, decisions!

So it is with this latest eco-warrior project in mind I gift you the special poem I have written for the occasion;


The planet dies before our eyes

Yet no one really cares

At least not until I came along

For I’m a girl who dares


To sever bollocks far and wide

My project starts tonight

When Tarquin loses his set

It will give him such a fright


Yet after when I explain to him

To have no bollocks is a great thing

In terms of saving Mother Earth

Even if it means at a high pitch he’ll sing


When sat around the camp fire

Belting out protest songs of old

And should the flame die down a tad

He’ll have no balls that would otherwise get cold

Right must be about my business – got a lentil bake to make!

Footnote: Incredible as it may seem this skit is loosely based upon the ‘world view’ of a young lady I met many years ago (true)!






The bewildered philosopher and

The master of discretion

At odds with one another

Had been since infinity was

Born an ellipse

The sublime contradiction


Thoughts imprisoned in time

Disguised as mere hints of

Something greater

Held sway

The master was on top of his game

Always had been


That was until the day

The dancing Princess of All Things

Tripped, stumbled and then fell

Into the flaming torch

The master had lit thus

Illuminating the grotto


Her beauty lost to

Dreadful hideous burns

Later scars adorned her

Once pretty face

Her nectarious body also

All before she had had the

Opportunity to experience

Love as a true thing

Love at all


As a moth to a flame

Servitude to the shadows

Such was the feeling of loss

The master and the philosopher

Became unlikely allies


For the philosopher this meant

The casting off of the

Shackles that bind

They were no more


It was then

Bewilderment gave way

To the blinding revelation of the light

Later to be shared with one and all


That day the master of discretion

Under the terms of the

Strange bedfellow’s alliance

The Treaty of All Things

Fell upon his own sword

An honourable act for

One inclined toward the

Injustice of caging slices of

Reality in pickling jars

Stored in impossible

Caves of chalk

Labelled randomly

As he saw fit


He had no choice as

He was the only one back then

Who could testify that

The girl; the dancing princess that is

Was of flesh and blood


As to his Last Will and Testament

He bequeathed his labelled jars

To the philosopher

And act of belated kinship?


Unbeknownst to the master

The dancer was with child

His child


The philosopher

So long in the dark

Raised her child as his own

The mother had died in childbirth


For the first time there was

Living proof of reality

The Dark Age had faded away and

With it the Magic




“Good grief Dr Gloom you look gloomier than ever….gloom personified I’d say……and it’s such a gorgeous day out there, the sun shining and not a cloud in the sky.”

“Well you can take that hail fellow well met fucking smile of your face Landlord and serve me up a pint of that glorified dish water you laughingly refer to as ale. After the night I’ve just had I couldn’t give a tuppenny toss about the weather.”

“What’s up then Gloomo? I thought you’d be full of the joys of spring what with you moving into your new home – that rather tasty Victorian cottage with all its Gothic charm – just yesterday. Bet it cost a pretty penny too.”

“It cost an arm and a fucking leg if you must know but that’s not the point. The thing is I haven’t had a wink of sleep leaving me feeling somewhat wretched.”

“That’s nothing new – you’re always feeling wretched.”

“Fuck off.”

“No need to talk like that Gloomo – anyhow how comes you didn’t get your 30 winks?”

“Because it seems within my new abode boasting what you refer to as Gothic charm resides a poltergeist that’s what.”

“What poltergeist as in ghost?”

“For pities sake landlord what other poltergeists are there.”

“True…….what happened then?”

“Well there I was all settled in, the removal men had sorted out my furniture and set up the TV and everything so I thought I’d cheer meself up with a bit of scoff and watch the telly before taking to me pit – an ever so engrossing documentary about post natal depression was on as it happens – when bugger me and quite out the blue a Scotch egg hit me smack in the temple knocking me out of the armchair and rendering me unconscious for God knows how long.”

“Wo….hold on there…..how can a Scotch egg to the temple knock a grown man out? I mean they are only a simple fusion of sausage meat and boiled egg. I thought you were going to say something like ‘a house brick hit me smack in the temple’……you know something hard like. I do believe you’re pulling me plonker Gloomo.”

“Show’s how fucking little you know Landlord for the Scotch egg was frozen. Given that they are my favourite thing to nibble upon of an evening I make sure the old freezer is always stocked up with Scotch eggs aplenty. I can therefore confirm that a frozen Scotch egg delivered at pace to the side of the cranium does indeed have the impact of a house brick.  Whatever, when I came round and had gathered me senses I saw standing above and astride me and cackling away chillingly an invisible entity of pure energy that plainly eluded the perceptions of reality in the form of a young woman – scantily clad in what looked to me like a net curtain fashioned in the style of a nightgown from a bygone era at that. She looked down and uttered the words, ‘You’ll never take me Matthew…not now, not ever….call yourself a Witchfinder……well I’m the one who got away.’  So I says to her, ‘Hold up luv my names Derek…..Derek Gloom…..who’s this Matthew you’re on about?’ So she says to me, ‘Don’t give me that old flannel Matthew Hopkins, Witchfinder General of all England…..you’ll never put me in that ducking chair now.’ With that she pelts me with another half dozen frozen Scotch eggs. Fortunately aside for the one that got me in the bollocks most did only a bit of collateral damage…..you know a bruise here and abrasion there. Luckily that little flurry was at too close a range to maim or mutilate.”

“Christ Gloomo it’s as if you’ve been vaccinated with a gramophone needle – never heard you speak so much…..carry on though this is fascinating.”

“Well after those shenanigans on the Scotch egg front she disappeared for a while and it was only as I was having a quick jimmy before getting into bed when fuck me if she didn’t lob yet another Scotch egg the offending item hitting me on the back of the old bonce causing me to piss down my pyjama leg.  Plainly I’d had enough so I turns about face and says to what I had now fathomed was a poltergeist, ‘Oi you……yes you luv……I am not……indeed never have been Matthew pox ridden Hopkins once the Witchfinder General of all England. Being a well-read man I can tell you that his witch hunting activities began in the year of our Lord 1644AD and ended in 1647AD when he died. We are now in 2014AD.’”

“Bet that told her – did she piss off after that?”

“Did she fuck…..no her riposte was, ‘Well you’re a dead ringer for him…..so much so I cannot take any comfort from what you say which quite frankly I don’t believe a word of. You Matthew Hopkins will try any trick in the book to get hold of me and have me confess to being a witch…..and you’re a sick pervert as well.  That is why I have been hid away in the basement here for quite a long time I think – I mean this is the third house to be built on these foundations since I escaped your clutches that day at the May Fair when you accused me of casting the spell causing the Squires knob to fall off whilst he was out riding.’”

“Tell you what Gloomo I reckon she must have starved to death and come back as a poltergeist without realising it. Well I’ll be blowed.”

“That Landlord is exactly what I thought. The thing is I’m stuck with her now and furthermore she’s taken quite a shine to that bastard homing donkey of mine. The bitch still hates my guts though – still remains convinced that I am this bloody Matthew Hopkins bloke. Just for good measure at about three in the morning when I finally thought I’d get some kip she pelted me with another volley of frozen Scotch eggs – as luck would have it I had the foresight to take cover under my duvet which served to act as a bullet proof vest of sorts.”

“Rather you than me Gloomo – I mean what will you do when you go back home from the pub?”

“I haven’t got a blind clue…..as I was leaving home earlier she dropped a pack of frozen lasagne (I’m out of Scotch eggs by now) upon my head from the landing and bellowed ‘Good riddance sicko’ then oddly spotted the picture of me and my estranged wife Ethel on the wall – wedding day snap as it happens – and added with just the glimmer of what looked to be a smile, ‘Christ what an ugly bitch she is………..now I know for sure why you’re always getting the overwhelming urge to find the witches ‘familiar’ about their naked bodies Matthew Hopkins……..well don’t think you’re getting a peek at mine sunshine.’”

“A ‘familiar’ you say – that’s the devil’s mark that will be somewhere upon her person you know. That means she is not only a poltergeist but a real witch also.”

“Don’t you think I don’t know that. How I suffer in life – it is little wonder I’m so gloomy. Still I best get down the butcher’s as I need to replenish my stock of Scotch eggs.”

“Bad news Gloomo.”

“What’s that then Landlord?”

“Surprised you haven’t heard – the butcher’s shop burned down last night.”






hammersmith bridge

I entered this world a

Fully formed adult male

Delivered up by

A lightning bolt that

Struck a cast iron waste bin


Turnham Green Underground Station

Leaving me encased therein


After a long struggle

I wormed my way out and

Found myself

Quite naked on the pavement

Outside the station entrance

During the

Monday morning rush hour


Passers-by looked at me disdainfully

Some dumbstruck

Others in horror

Many a ‘tut tut’ aimed in my direction


Good fortune smiled though

A 1957 Austin A40 pulled up

In the street before me

The vehicle was sign written

‘Eric’s Unlicensed Cab of Unresolved Things’


I was ever so grateful to Eric

He jumped out of the cab

Rushed over and

Handed me a floor length

Black plastic Macintosh


Giving me the once over

A nod and a wink he said

‘This do you alright mate – you’re one of us now’

Before returning to his car and

Clattering off about his business


As morning turned to afternoon

The day got hotter and hotter

The Macintosh now an incubator

My earlier gratitude toward Eric waned

A certain animosity consumed me


It was at around this time

A summertime shower

Turned into an opening of the heavens

In the wake of which a

Rainbow formed


I tracked its path

The end of the rainbow there

In the middle of Hammersmith Bridge


I got there just in time

For it had not yet dissipated


Resting at the end of the rainbow

A pretty girl dressed in Victorian crinoline

With an antique silvered mirror in her hand


Her eyes knew who I was

I could tell


She told me to check my reflection

I did so and saw I was but a nothing

The chemistry of existence had

Failed me once more


cement mixer

“Excuse me squire but I take it that this is the builder’s merchants what sells cement mixers for our old one is knackered beyond repair?”

“Certainly is mate. What kind do you want?”

“Fucked if I know if the truth be told – the boss just said go and get a new one and have them put it on the account.”

“Well when purchasing a device that homogeneously combines cement, aggregate such as sand or gravel, and water to form concrete it is always advisable to make sure you end up with the one that is right for you. I mean in these days of short mixing times of ready-mix concrete one cannot be too careful.”

“What do you recommend then?”

“Um…..I mean you could have a twin-shaft or maybe a vertical axis although being as you are in the construction game I’m thinking a drum mixer probably fits the bill.”

“I’ll have one of those then.”

“Ah…..what did you say your name was?”

“Didn’t but it’s Wayne; Wayne Gravel.”

“I’m known as Nobby.”

“Right then Wayne we have a vast range of drum mixers. From basic right through to those that come equipped with wheels and a towing tongue and, of course, the magic cement mixer.”

“Did you say ‘magic’ Nobby?”

“Certainly did Wayne. A very rare item indeed for it doesn’t just mix cement it conjures up anything does this mixer supremo – and I mean ‘anything’ as in anything you’ve ever dreamed of.”

“Crikey that sounds handy I’ll have one of those then.”

“Brilliant, ‘sold to the man with the beer belly’ – I’ll have the boys load it up for you.”

“Cheers squire.”


“Well Magic Cement Mixer me mum has gone and forgotten me flask so I’ve nothing to wash down me Spam and Branston pickle sandwich with. If you’re fucking magic then conjure me a cup of cha.”

“Coming right up guvnor – there job done.”

“Well I’ll be buggered…….a speaking magic cement mixer and within the confines of the drum a cup of cha so strong you could stand a spoon in it and sugared to perfection……and bonus of all bonuses it’s in a chipped enamel mug.”

“Your wish is my command Wayne……anything you want just give us the nod.”

“I might just take you up on that Magic Cement Mixer……I’m thinking here that I’d quite like a new hard hat given that mine is cracked and the Health & Safety would have my guts for garters should they pay me a visit.”

“Well we can’t have you taking any risks can we. Herewith the Rolls Royce of all hard hats serving to protect your head from injury due to falling objects, impact with other objects, debris, rain, and electric shock.”

“Fuck me sideways I’ve never seen the like – the hard hat of my dreams and in the classic yellow, that cocktail of ripe lemons and sun I’ve always wanted yet never could afford. Cheers for that Magic Cement Mixer.”

“Anything else you need Wayne?”

“Well Magic Cement Mixer I’ve always….ever since my apprenticeship really……hankered after a top of the range Marshalltown Permashape finishing trowel. If I had one of those I’d be the envy of labourers far and wide.”

“Come see……your trowel with, I might add, a ‘worn-in’ blade for immediate optimum usability.”

“Cor thanks very much Magic Cement Mixer – life doesn’t get much better than this.”

“Is that all for now Wayne only I’m getting a tad cream-crackered and could do with shutting down for a while?”

“There is one last thing you could conjure up Magic Cement Mixer namely a new labourer to assist me with my onsite duties, you know a bit of hod carrying here; shovelling there. One what is fit as well unlike the useless old toe rags the boss sends me. On a hot day with their shirts off it’s like being looking at the gorilla pen at Whipsnade.”

“You say you want a ‘fit’ labourer that looks the business without a shirt on on a hot day Wayne?”

“Too true I do Magic Cement Mixer.”

“Well you’ll probably have to help her out of my drum but I do believe this fulfils your requirements to the letter.”

“Her?……….surely to God you understand that a building site is no place for a woman especially so a lovely girl like this one…..I’m Wayne by the way luv…..Blige she’d suffer constant wolf whistles and be the butt of endless remarks of sexual innuendo. No this will never do Magic Cement Mixer.”

“Bollocks you never said Wayne. I mean I’m more than happy to magic you a bloke but I can’t take her back you know and for what it may be worth she is an expert on the history of black epoxy coated 85 litre wheelbarrows.”

“What did you just say?”

“The history of black epoxy coated 85 litre wheelbarrows.”

“How did you know that that is my favourite subject……I mean just when I thought things couldn’t get any better I am delivered up a gorgeous bird who majors in black epoxy coated 85 litre wheelbarrows. You’ve got the gig luv……….oh cheers luv I’ll call you Mandy then….and Mandy give me your thoughts if you would on the 1978 model for I was never convinced the Wickes’ version for that particular year stood up to scrutiny……………..”



He fashioned a fishing rod

It served no purpose

For he lived in a desert


A little later in another place

He befriended a girl

Well versed in the ways of the world

More so than he


She told him she was

But one who took pleasure in suffering

Told him that a

Four-poster without ties

Is just a bed of convenience

That the pornography of idle thought

Was the perfect imperfection


Legend has it she freed his soul

Yet I have heard otherwise

From the horse’s mouth


Once in a dream

Out of the blue

The author of his demise

Came to me

Told me that those were indeed the

Lessons she had taught him

On a night of the Harvest Moon

That he had not listened to

A single word


The next morning

She took of her leave

Certain he would never forget her


Feeling brain dead on the skit writing front today so here’s a re-run of the first JC penned a while back!




Judea AD28.  JC has been out and about all morning and has now returned home for a spot of lunch only to find Mary sat down in her favourite chair playing with her IPad thing exactly as he left her earlier.  The look upon his face reveals that JC is not happy about this in part or at all!

JC: “You still sat on your fat arse playing with that bloody IPad I see – I was hoping against hope you might have found the time to prepare food woman.  I wish I’d never brought you that IPad you’re addicted to it.”

Mary: “Can’t help it JC – I’ve got 1737 followers on Facebook now and it would be an insult not to commune with them.  Anyway, there’s some flat bread and Yak cheese in the fridge – help yourself.”

JC: “Flat bread and cheese, oh that’s bloody brilliant…

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